I've never seen it before tonight, and I can't stop myself from wishing I wasn't too washed up to really take everything in. The floors are marble. The ceilings are so high I feel dizzy just having to look up at them. I don't think I've ever seen a place more extravagant in my life.

"You live in a castle?" I whisper-screech as soon as I enter through the front door, unable to stop myself from looking around me in awe.

"Not quite," Jack says with a chuckle, shutting the door behind him and turning the lights on. "Just a regular house."

"A huge one!" I cry, spinning around to see the ceiling, which only makes me more dizzy. "A huge house!" I start to crack up, wondering why that's suddenly so funny.

"Okay," Jack murmurs, wrapping an arm around my shoulders to keep me steady. "You've got to keep it down, okay? My parents are asleep."

"Parents?" I ask with wide eyes, looking around in a panic. "Where?"

"You're funny," Jack mutters, walking me toward the stairs slowly. "Come on," he whispers, helping me ascend the stairs one by one. I notice that he doesn't remove his grip from me once, making sure that I'm clear on my feet. He keeps his pace slow so that I have no problem keeping up, allowing me to put most of my weight on him. About halfway up the stairs, Jack turns to me with an encouraging smile and murmurs, "We're almost there."

Minutes later, I stand inside what I assume to be Jack's room. The walls are blue and the floor is just regular hardwood. He has a queen-sized bed with a blue plaid comforter, his things strewn around the room in an order that only makes since to him. It's weird because, though I've never seen it before, I can totally see this being Jack's room. It's oddly him, if that makes any sense. Not that I've been making any sense lately, as I'm still pretty out of it.

Suddenly I don't feel too good. My head splits and my stomach churns at the same time my throat constricts, and I immediately know that I'm going to be sick. I hurriedly make my way into the bathroom which is adjoined to Jack's room, falling to the ground and beginning to puke my guts out over the toilet. My throat is on fire and tears spill down my cheeks involuntarily as I wretch, hardly breathing. Honestly, I don't think I've ever felt this bad in my entire life.

I hardly notice, but I can feel Jack at my back, holding my hair away from my face for me. Once I'm finally done puking, Jack wipes my face with a cool rag without even having to be asked. I wish my head weren't pounding so hard, because maybe then I'd be able to appreciate how genuinely kind Jack has been to me tonight. Part of me understands this while the other half of me is too much of a mess to fully understand anything.

By this point I've sobered enough to be in a slightly clearer state of mind, though not much. I find myself meeting Jack's gaze, too sick to feel embarrassed. "Thank you," I mumble to him, suddenly feeling as if I have a fever.

"Come on," Jack says, helping me to my feet gently. "Let's get you out of those clothes and into bed, okay?" I want to agree, but I find that I can't say much of anything, so I manage a weak nod.

Jack gives me a T-shirt and leaves me alone to change. I find that even the simple motion of removing my clothes seems to be overwhelmingly hard in the state that I'm currently in. When I finally manage to wrestle out of my stained clothes, I slip Jack's shirt over my head without much thought. It isn't until I see my reflection in the mirror that I really understand just what's going on, and that leads to panic.

How could I do this to myself? How could I get drunk? How could I be so irresponsible? After everything that's happened in my life, you'd think I'd know by now not to do things like this. What would my dad say if he were here right now? Why do I kind of wish he was?

Just then, I accidentally hit my arm against the doorknob a little too hard, which causes me to immediately burst into tears. The tears don't sprout just because of the pain of hitting myself, but because of what I've done. I've never been as stupidly immature in my life the way I have tonight. How could I do this? I just don't understand. I've never been this kind of girl. This isn't who I am. How did I end up sobbing in Jack Crawford's bathroom, wearing one of his shirts because I threw up all over my own because I got too intoxicated to even think straight?

"Hey," I hear a soft voice saying from the other side of the door, the doorknob turning slowly. "You okay in there?"

"No!" I somehow manage to wail. The bathroom door opens completely at my response, and I come face-to-face with a concerned Jack, which only makes me feel worse. "Look at me! I'm a mess!"

Jack leans against the door-side, studying me in silence for a moment. I can't help envying him. He's not the one who just threw their guts up because he got so drunk he's already forgotten most of the night. He's not the one who lost his mother. He's not the one who had to move his entire life to a new state to start over once again after a tragic accident. Compared to me, Jack Crawford is perfect. And I really, truly hate him because of it.

"Come here," Jack whispers after an eternity of silence, holding his arms out for me. Despite all of my thoughts, I don't think twice before I sink into him, sobbing into his shoulder, my tears soaking his shirt. Jack's arms close around me, holding me tightly into his grasp. I can't help but think that, in this moment, Jack Crawford is being maybe the best friend I could ask for. Jack Crawford. How crazy is that?

"It's okay," Jack says softly into my ear, running a hand over my messy hair soothingly. "You're okay, Morgan."

"No I'm not," I counter in a broken sob, knowing truer words have never been spoken from my lips. I'm not okay. Maybe I'll never be okay again. It sure doesn't feel like I will be.

Jack is silent for a moment once again, simply holding me as I cry into his chest. Then, out of nowhere, he asks, "Do you want to talk about it?"

I don't really know what comes over me. It's like I have no control over myself after Jack says those words. One second, I'm sobbing into his shoulder. The next, I'm blubbering my whole life's story to him. Seriously. I tell him everything. I tell him about the baby. The miscarriage. Mom. Moving away from Texas. My life here. The whole story from beginning to end. What's even more surprising than me opening up to Jack out of the blue is the way that Jack listens to me, almost like no one else ever has. Then again, I've never talked to anyone about this subject before either. In a way, it's kind of freeing.

"She's never coming back," I finish, staring down at my hands, hardly able to choke the words out. "I'm never going to see my mom again, Jack."

When I finally look up after throwing my entire sob story at Jack Crawford, I expect to see pity in his eyes. That's one of the things I hate the most, the way people look at me after they hear my story. It's like I'm some sort of sick puppy that they just can't help but feel bad for.

But that's not what I see when I look at Jack. Instead, Jack looks at me the same way he always has. I see sadness in his gaze, of course, but nothing that resembles pity. More than that, he hasn't tried to reassure me that things are going to get better or you can only go up from here. He doesn't say much of anything, really. He just sits across from me, glancing at me with concern and what looks like understanding etched onto his features.

Finally, he says, "I'm really sorry that happened to you, Morgan." I expect him to leave things there, but he surprises me by continuing, "but I really think you need to stop hurting yourself. Stop torturing yourself over things you can't control. You're hurting, and that's expected. But don't let that grief you're feeling consume you. Your mom loved you, you know. She still does. She doesn't have to be here for that."

I nod at Jack's words as a wave of exhaustion washes over me. Suddenly I don't feel like talking anymore. Instead I feel like curling up in a big ball and sleeping for the rest of my life.

"Thank you for listening to all of that," I tell Jack, falling back on his bed, feeling my head sinking into the pillow beneath me. "And thank you for bringing me here. Just . . . thank you."

Though it's dark in Jack's room, I can make out Jack's green eyes perfectly as they meet mine with an intensity that's almost scary. For a moment, it's like he's seeing past me and straight into my soul. Seriously. It's like he really understands me in this moment, and I don't think I fully realize what it would have to mean for Jack to understand a situation like me.

"You're welcome, Scott," Jack whispers after a long moment, his voice barely audible.

My eyelids begin to flutter, drifting off before the rest of me is ready to go. I can feel Jack shifting in his bed next to me, getting ready to go to sleep himself.

"Goodnight, Scott," Jack says softly, pulling his blanket up over me and resting the end by my chin.

"Goodnight," I think I mumble back, but it's hard to tell for sure. If anything happens after that, it's safe to say I'm not going to remember it. I fall asleep only seconds later, letting the exhaustion within consume me completely.

For the first time in what feels like forever, I sleep peacefully.

• • •

My eyes shoot open to reveal a room I'm positive I've never seen before. For a second I can't focus on anything but the pounding I feel in my head, completely disorienting me. When the pounding subsides slightly, I look around, wondering why I can't remember where I am or how I got here.

I sit up slowly, my body aching with the simple action. I run a hand through my hair, rubbing my eyes before stretching my joints. Slowly and with time, a few memories come rushing back to me. I remember the football game. Going to a party. Kissing Lucas. Throwing up in Jack's bathroom. Telling Jack Crawford my deepest, darkest secrets . . .

In a frenzy, I look over to my right to find that Jack Crawford is sleeping soundly next to me in a bed that isn't mine. If I weren't so shocked, I'd be screaming right about now.

This can not be happening, I think in a panic as I run my hands through my hair, trying to make sense of everything around me. Morgan! How could you tell Jack all of those things about your past? What is wrong with you? How did you end up in a bed with Jack Crawford? Why did you even decide to be with him?

Oh, yeah. You were DRUNK!

I don't know what's scarier: the fact that I actually told Jack about my past, or the fact that most of last night is a blur. Looking down, I find that I'm wearing Jack's shirt. My panic deepens, and I can't stop thinking the worst.

I don't even like Jack Crawford! What is wrong with me?

I throw the covers I woke up wrapped in off of me, gathering my things and wondering if it's possible for me to just run all the way home, at this point not even caring if my dad sees me hungover. There's no way I can stay here. Not after waking up in a strange room next to Jack Crawford, wearing nothing but his shirt. I'm mortified.

Only, my head starts to spin as soon as my feet hit the ground. It takes all I've got to stay upright, nearly tripping as I bend down to grab my shorts that are strewn across the floor.

"Hey," I hear a groggy voice saying from the bed, stopping me in my tracks. "You're up."

I turn to look over my shoulder at Jack, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. Only now do I realize that this white shirt is completely see through. And Jack's not wearing a shirt, which immediately has my mind reeling. I was so out of it last night . . . is it possible . . .

OH GOD.

"You okay?" Jack asks, raising an eyebrow at me. His expression is one of concern and confusion, and I hate myself for having to admit that it only adds to his attractiveness. "You look terrified."

I find myself studying Jack's bedhead, watching as he runs a hand through his hair before rubbing his face. My gaze drifts down to his bare chest, lowering until the blanket covers what I can't make out. I feel my face flushing as I find that I can't stop thinking about how good Jack looks right now, and the fact that I woke up in the same bed as him, my clothes on the ground as I wear nothing but his T-shirt and undergarments.

"Did we sleep together?" I blurt, unable to keep the fear to myself any longer. I mean, the evidence is all around us. Still, I need Jack to confirm in words that I didn't do something with him that I'm going to regret for the rest of my life.

Jack immediately looks taken aback by my question. He pauses, staring at me unblinking, mouth gaping and jaw slack. "Uh . . . no?" he sputters, finally blinking. "You were wasted, Morgan. I wouldn't . . . I just let you crash here. You were a mess. You didn't want your dad to see you drunk. You said you didn't have anywhere else to go."

"Oh," I say, relief flowing through my veins as I can finally breathe again. "Just . . . making sure."

Jack pulls himself out of the bed, and for a second I can't do anything but stare at him. His golden hair is messy in that I-just-woke-up kind of way that seems to work really well on him. He doesn't wear anything but a pair of black briefs, showing off his toned chest that I have to force my eyes off of. For just a moment, he looks so good I can hardly stand it.

Then I blink and the trance wears off, forcing me to remember what I've done and who I'm here with. Suddenly it doesn't matter how hot Jack Crawford is. I want to get away from him as quickly as I possibly can. Because he knows. He knows everything about me, all my scars and emotional baggage. And there's nothing I can say that will change that fact.

"Thank you for letting me stay the night," I mumble weakly, hardly able to even look at him. "Do you think you could take me home now?"

"Of course," Jack says, grabbing a pair of jeans and tugging them on. "No problem."

I head into his bathroom and change, leaving the shirt Jack lent me in the laundry bin. I don't think I've ever been more ashamed of myself in my life than I am in this moment. For the first time ever, I'm glad that my mom won't have to see me when I get home. The look in her eyes if she could see me now would practically kill me. It'll be enough coming from my dad.

Somehow, Jack and I manage to sneak out of his house without getting caught by his parents. I can only imagine how mortified I'd be if they saw us, more than likely assuming the worst the same way I did when I woke up.

The ride to my house is silent. It's almost as if neither of us have anything to say to the other, which is almost ironic considering how much I confided in Jack last night. You'd think after all that we'd be able to manage a little small talk, but I don't bother to say a word and nor does Jack.

When Jack stops a few blocks away from my house, I turn to him hesitantly, unsure of what to say. He's the only person on this entire earth besides my dad that I've ever bared my soul to, and it's unnerving in the worst kind of way to know that he knows everything about me.

"Do you think we can keep this between us?" I ask, meeting his gaze forcefully.

"Sure, Scott," Jack agrees with a little smirk. "Besides, who would I tell?"

"Seriously," I deadpan, not in the mood for fun and games with Jack Crawford. "I mean it, Jack. All of it. If you tell anyone about anything, I'll have my dad take you off of the team."

Jack blinks, looking startled by my sudden change of demeanor. Whatever he did for me last night, whatever I told him, I can't take back. But I sure as hell can make sure it stays in the past, and let him know that we are not friends. I can hardly stand to look at him right now, knowing that he knows. Everything. He knows.

"Your secret is safe with me, Morgan," Jack says faintly, giving me a you-can-trust-me look. I study him for a long moment before jerking open my car door and trudging toward my driveway, feeling worse than I look. I can hear Jack's car taking off shortly afterward, and I don't bother to watch him drive away.

He told me my secret was safe with him, but I can't help wondering just how true that statement will turn out to be.